


Every Lover Wages A War

by WildKitte



Series: gifts [5]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Breaking Up & Making Up, Complicated Relationships, Crying, First Kiss, Flashbacks, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Self-Esteem Issues, Unrequited Love, i once again write an akaashi incompetent at love, love triangle but not actually konoha is dumb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 05:30:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20830190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildKitte/pseuds/WildKitte
Summary: Militat omnis amans, et habet sua castra Cupido:--, crede mihi, militat omnis amans.Every lover wages a war, Cupid has his own campaignBelieve me, -- , every lover wages a war.~Ovid, Amores I, 9





	Every Lover Wages A War

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darumarina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darumarina/gifts).

> This fic was written back in January 2017 for Rina, inspired by angsty art they drew of KonoAka.  
It seems that I created a habit of writing messy relationships with eventual happy endings. Quite like [farewell](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5787991) this also has an Akaashi that is "hard to love and harder to keep" (this can kind of be read as a sequel to it but also as an individual piece). I don't think this is at all in line with his canon character, just a headcanon I created on my own to play with :'3  
Don't let the Love Triangle-tag fool you, this is Not It. 
> 
> As a song recommendation, have Florence's [Long and Lost](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BJILX4srC0g)

There was a knock on Konoha's door.

Perplexed, he put the watering can down and walked to the door (_who even knocked at this hour?_).

Swinging the door open, his movements came to a startled stop.

Akaashi's teary eyes stared at the ground and his cheeks were almost as red as his eyes. The rain was beating the ground loudly behind him, big puddles on the sidewalk. Akaashi's clothes were damp.

”Can I come in?” he asked.

Konoha opened the door wider and let him.

Akaashi toed off his shoes, sniffling quietly, and Konoha gave him the guest slippers.

There was a quiet thank you, and something broken in Akaashi's eyes.

_(Some time ago, it would've been an insult, ripping open old wounds and pouring burning bitterness in the blistering flesh – the slippers, how easily Akaashi settled in his house and filled it with his deep, broken breaths.)_

With a laboured push the world started spinning again.

*

_It was a heavy summer, the song of the cicadas oppressive and omnipresent._

_”I like you,” a curt, confident confession was the beginning of it all, and Konoha's heart tripped and stuttered to a wild, strong beat._

_”O-okay,” was all that tumbled out of his mouth and Akaashi was already pulling him in, the sun burning his back but he didn't care, with shaking hands he settled on Akaashi's waist he was radiating love._

*

”What are you doing here, Akaashi?” he asked. Akaashi was sat on his bed, Konoha next to him. A borrowed towel was wrapped around his shoulders, the ends of his hair still dripping with water.

”I left.” Akaashi's voice was frail and rough. He buried his hands in the sheets, shoulders tensing as he fought back a sob, failing. Through the tiny slits between the curtains, the blue hues of the streetlights lit his figure and Konoha let his eyes wander, mapping the precious features of his face, long lashes and dark eyes. He was just as beautiful as Konoha remembered him.

”Why?”

Akaashi didn't need to answer, his eyes welled up with fat tears – Konoha didn't need to hear it, because he had heard it before.

(_I can't breathe – I can't live like this – I have to go – And Konoha knew what kind of heartbreak Akaashi had left behind, too. He was hard to love, and even harder to keep._)

Akaashi pressed his head on Konoha's shoulder, there was a deep ache in Konoha's chest to be anything other but himself, a crushed man in love with another. The tears were soaking through his shirt and Akaashi curled his fingers in Konoha's shirt, clutching desperately as his sobs grew raw and broken, shaking his body, and there was nothing Konoha could do but pull him closer to his chest.

And Akaashi begged: ”Make me forget.”

_Let me return one last time._

*

_Bokuto was like the sun._

_Koutarou was so bright and brilliant, more so than anyone really realised – Konoha, too, was captivated by him and his light, so it was no wonder Akaashi looked at him like he had hung the stars in the sky._

_And Konoha loved Koutarou too, knew how his kisses tasted as dares and how his eyes could turn sharp and focused, like a beast zeroing on its prey._

_”You like Akaashi,” Koutarou said once. ”It's clear in your eyes.” And Konoha guessed it was obvious._

_Konoha knew how to lick juicy trails of strawberry off Akaashi's fingers, wipe Akaashi's sweaty hair from his forehead in the shade of the gym as the July sun scorched in the blue sky. He knew what Akaashi's clumsy first kiss felt like, inexperienced lips pressed against his, first sliver of tongue, the softness of his sigh as his fingers slid in Konoha's hair and pulled him impossibly close. There was humour in Koutarou's eyes when he walked in on them in the equipment closet, and Konoha still remembered how Akaashi's body tensed against his._

_How Koutarou settled for Akaashi's friendship, then, Konoha could not understand._

_How Akaashi could choose him was lost on him too._

_”You don't have to settle for me,” he told Akaashi. You can have him, you can have anyone you want._

_”I'm not settling for anyone,” Akaashi reassured him (and back then he didn't realise that it was a warning, too)._

*

He laid him down on his bed, pressed Akaashi in his sheets and let his hands wander, slide across his skin like waves, fingertips like droplets running down his body. Gasping, Akaashi planted the soles of his feet to the bed, hips rolling as Konoha's lips mapped his body, wet glide of tongue leaving cold, burning traces behind.

He knew he was replacing other man's handprints, painting pleasure over fading marks, and that was okay – as long as he was the one who tattooed his touch on Akaashi's skin, permanent.

Akaashi was good in bed – he was good at paying attention to every hitch of breath, good at the maddening roll of his hips, his nails raking marks down Konoha's back that wouldn't fade away no matter how much Konoha hoped, good at leaving impressions on Konoha's skin and claiming everything to himself, consuming his heart and soul whole.

But Akaashi was bad at love. He loved too much, and too hard; his love was too thick. To him, thin love wasn't love at all, and he threw himself in his feelings too deep, until he became tangled in his emotions, got stuck under the surface and couldn't breathe.

So time after time he left, and then kept coming back for more, taking and taking and taking, too afraid to give. With sharp teeth he tore at Konoha's heart and time and time again, Konoha let him, pretending surprised when Akaashi left him aching. Once you were loved by Akaashi, he never let you go – he sunk his talons deep until they drew blood, holding on like on a lifeline.

Konoha didn't mind a few scars.

As he sank deep inside Akaashi's body, Akaashi's back arching off the bed and chest rubbing against his own, Konoha wished he could trap Akaashi there, keep him close and melt against his bones.

_So stay_, he begged in his head with every shallow thrust, _please stay_, he moaned dragged breaths in Akaashi's open mouth, _please stay with me this time_. Akaashi sighed his name in return and Konoha almost sobbed with relief, that it was _Aki_ and not _Koutarou_.

*

_Konoha was never certain that Akaashi ever got over Koutarou, the way his eyes shone in team reunions and when Koutarou's games were on television._

_Sometimes, he would stare out of the window with this empty melancholy in his gaze – those nights Akaashi would dig up his old Fukurodani jersey and Konoha hid himself in the darkness, looking away._

_His jersey was in the same closet, folded neatly and carefully, a reminder of scorching summer days and damp, red lips glazed with nectar pressing against his, sweet tongue's glide wet in his mouth._

_As he left (for the first time), Akaashi left the jersey behind._

*

As much as he tried to let Akaashi go, at least for Akaashi's sake, as much as he tried to shut the door and ignore the phone calls, every time he fell back to the old habit, every time wondering if this time would be the last.

Some days he hoped that Akaashi would just disappear, without a word, and never come back again. Never again bang on his (_their_) door, never again fall in his (_their_) bed; he would be just a deep ache, a painful memory, a bitter heartbreak that lingered in the corners of his (_their, their_) apartment.

_You say that thin love isn't love at all_, he thought, _so what is this?_

What was this play, this pretense of continuum, this story without closure?

_Should he go back in time, reverse those moments pressed against each other, never sink to that heady heat, leaving him intoxicated, incapacitated in love?_

*

Yet,

Akaashi always came back to him; despite everything it was Konoha who he fell back on, trusting in the fact that Konoha would catch him mid-fall.

(_And he would, every time, he would gather Akaashi in his arms and hold him against his chest, let Akaashi sink in his heartbeat, until he was free again, purify the water in his lungs so he could breathe._)

He pressed soft kisses on Akaashi's neck and Akaashi answered with a gasping, shuddering breath. He slid his hands around Konoha's shoulders, then down his back and pulled him close, as if to fuse their bodies together and never let go.

_I see_, Konoha thought, as he was getting closer to the edge, carrying Akaashi's pleasure with him. _Once you love someone, you can't really go back, can you_.

*

_Both of them, in the middle, meeting again and again mid-step, he always comes back, he always lets him in._

_In the end, it was pointless to compare them – Koutarou never stood a chance._

*

Akaashi's chest heaved with heavy breaths. In the darkness of his room, the air thick with sweat and humidity, Akaashi's skin was warm against his, his eyes bright with longing.

”Is it too late?” Akaashi asked, quiet and uncertain.

Konoha's insides constricted and his eyes felt heavy with tears threatening to fall.

”Is it too late, Aki?”

”No,” he whispered. ”Never.” His fingers sought desperately for contact and Akaashi entwined their fingers together.

With a soft whisper Konoha pressed a kiss on Akaashi's knuckles:

”_Stay._”

*

He woke up to a warm bed.

He didn't need to open his eyes, fumble at the empty side of the bed, panic didn't have a chance to well in his chest. – there was a soft body snuggling on his chest.

His heart swelling painfully, Konoha squeezed his eyes shut and let out a heavy breath.

The world lulled to a silken silence.

_\- end -_

**Author's Note:**

> Akaashi's ex is either Koutarou or not. I personally don't think it matters.  
This has quite a few quotes lifted from Toni Morrison's _Beloved_, considering i've never read it.
> 
> Talk to me on twitter [@wildkitte](https://twitter.com/wildkitte)!


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